


Makes for a Pretty Picture

by HappyHour



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Come Marking, Creampie, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Marking, Mentions of pornography, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Photography, Other, victim blaming themselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 04:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20269906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyHour/pseuds/HappyHour
Summary: Deadlock has always had an interest in the very pretty flame-decorated Autobot named Hot Rod. So when he has the chance to have him alone, he doesn't let that chance get away from him.





	Makes for a Pretty Picture

Hot Rod felt the slow drag to consciousness. There had been a battle, he remembered that. But that was all he could recall. What had happened? He didn’t hear anything in particular, but he was pretty sure that his audials were working. He could feel like he was lying on a flat smooth surface. So he wasn’t in a battle now. Medbay? He felt his body aching all over. He knew he wouldn’t get any painkillers unless he was complaining.

He then realized something was wrong. He wasn’t lying prone on a recharge slab in a normal recovery position. His arms were above his head, and he felt his legs splayed, set wider than a regular recovery slab in a medbay.

The unfamiliarity of the situation put Hot Rod into a state of panic. His optics hadn’t even recovered, his voice box felt rusty as he tried to yell, and it came out as a low rumbling moan of pain. He felt the sting in his arms and legs as he tried to move them, but the movement felt slow and sluggish. But he moved them, until he couldn’t.

The optics were slowly coming online as the situation registered with Hot Rod. He couldn’t pull his arms to his chest. He pulled on them, but felt something catching his wrists. His legs could close together, but he also felt something catching his ankles.

He wasn’t in a medbay. He wasn’t among Autobots. Neither would tie him up like that. As he continued to struggle, the ache was fading away. He was growing more aware. And then he could finally see properly.

Hot Rod had thought that he had been blind for a while, but no, the room he was in was dark. He could now see the outlines of walls, dim light reflected off them from a dim light source in the room with him, and his own biolights brightening up as he was coming to. And he was on the floor of the room. Just as he saw a mech standing in a corner, he felt a stabbing pain in his optics as the lights turned on. He shook his head trying to ignore the pain and he grimaced.

“You got some pretty moans.” A familiar voice said, but Hot Rod couldn’t place it. He looked at where the voice had come from, the corner where he had seen that outline of a mech. He was still there. Mostly black with purple and white, and a sharp smile of victory on him.

“Deadlock.” Hot Rod hissed. The aches were forgotten and he pulled on the restraints. There wasn’t much give to them. He wouldn’t be able to fight back. He tried to pull his legs closer to himself but he could bend his knees just a bit. As he tried to raise himself up a bit Deadlock walked over to him.

“Hot Rod.” He said smiling. “So we know each other’s names. Is there anything else you want to establish?” He was holding something in his hand but Hot Rod didn’t even take a glance, just glaring at Deadlock who had that smug smile on his face.

“No?” Deadlock exaggerated a shrug as if he were badly acting.

“What do you want?” Hot Rod spit out. He was just a regular Autobot soldier. He didn’t have any important intel nor was he valuable for some trade or some prisoner exchange. In a battle he would have been left alone on the battlefield, or someone would have at least tried to finish the job. But that hadn’t happened. He was alive and chained up. That frightened him.

“Oh, there isn’t really much that I want. Just you.” Deadlock smirked as he stepped over Hot Rod and sat down on top of his thighs.

Hot Rod squirmed, trying to get Deadlock off him. But with what Deadlock said, and him noticing that squirming made his thighs rub against Deadlock’s interface plating, he stopped trying. “Well, you’re not having me.” Hot Rod said.

“I know.” Deadlock sighed and looked aside. “But I do like you. You’re good looking, you’re fast, you got this amazing spoiler -” Deadlock extended his free hand and groped Hot Rod’s spoiler, his hand treating it roughly and gripping the tip of it. Hot Rod choked down a whimper of pain, not letting the Decepticon see that he was hurting him.

“- but the problem is this.” Deadlock said, tapping at the Autobot insignia on Hot Rod’s chest. “But I can fix it for you.”

“Get slagged!” Hot Rod yelled. “I ain’t joining no Decepticreeps. And this isn’t really an effective recruitment tactic either.” He yanked on the chains holding his arms in place.

“I know I know.” Deadlock rolled his eyes as he smiled. Then he brought up what he was holding in his other arm. Hot Rod looked. It was spray paint, purple. And before Hot Rod could react Deadlock slammed his free hand on Hot Rod’s chest, holding it in place as he sprayed the paint on Hot Rod. Hot Rod struggled, smudging the lines a bit, but Deadlock was swift and the job was done in mere seconds. Hot Rod struggled to look at what Deadlock had done to his chest, and he saw a large and crude Decepticon insignia on himself.

“Much more handsome, right?” Deadlock said.

“Frag you.” Hot Rod growled.

“Oh, I think it’s going to be the other way around.” Deadlock said, and his spike cover spiraled open. He reached down to rub himself over it, teasing the spike out and let it slowly become more and more erect.

Hot Rod struggled anew. He had been having an inkling that Deadlock was after him that way but this terrified him. He was bound, vulnerable, helpless, with no way to escape, and Deadlock was poised to start raping him.

Rape. Hot Rod felt as if his coolant was freezing in his inner workings. He was going to get fragging raped by a Decepticon. He continued to struggle, jerking as he tried to throw Deadlock off his thighs. But Deadlock just leaned slightly over Hot Rod, both his hands planted on the floor just below Hot Rod’s spoiler. The added pressure on Hot Rod made him look at what Deadlock was doing.

He saw Deadlock’s fully pressurized spike. It was simple looking. Default. Hot Rod hadn’t himself spent any credits on upgrades or cosmetics, and it looked like Deadlock had neither. Hot Rod felt himself flushed with shame when he became conscious of the fact that he was comparing his would-be rapist’s spike to the spikes he had seen. Blurr had given himself all the bells and whistles. He had been rich before the war, he had afforded it but he hadn’t wanted to talk about his upgrades. Bumblebee was plain but at some point he had given his spike some paint highlights. And the other spikes Hot Rod had seen were also altered, some of which rather extensively, but that was pretty much a requirement if one was in pornography.

Pornography. That was what came to Hot Rod’s mind when he saw Deadlock over him, his spike so proudly on display to make sure that Hot Rod and the viewer knew what was going to rail him. He suddenly became afraid that this was filmed, that Deadlock was going to show other Decepticons what he did with good looking Autobots. But as he looked at Deadlock, it felt more like that Deadlock was putting himself on display, showing himself off privately. Hot Rod didn’t really know what Deadlock was going for with this game. 

“Like what you see?” Deadlock did a sing-song as he sensually stretched, having caught Hot Rod staring.

“No.” Hot Rod said. “It looks pathetic, you look pathetic.” He glared at Deadlock.

“I saw you looking.” Deadlock said. “I saw that hunger in your eyes. You want it, don’t you? You little wanton Autobot slut.” Deadlock ran his hand down Hot Rod’s body, the flat palm touching the still closed modesty plating. Hot Rod squirmed, trying to get away from the touch. He was sensitive down there. Everyone were. And Deadlock just kept his hand there, his fingers teasing the edges in little irregular motions. Hot Rod couldn’t predict if the fingers would run up or down the seams, if they would start groping the inner thigh. And then Deadlock’s free hand went to the spoiler. Hot Rod flinched when he touched it, thinking he would just grab and squeeze it again. But this time the fingers just lightly brushed against it, the fingertips running along the edges and rubbing the tip of the spoiler.

This was driving Hot Rod mad. He kept squirming, wishing that Deadlock would just stop and leave him. But the touches were driving him crazy. He didn’t want it, but he didn’t want to stood so low as to beg the Decepticon to stop. He felt the inner flame inside of him, refusing to yield, refusing to give up and beg. But the same flame was responding so quickly to Deadlock’s touches, that had become synchronized at some point, the hand rubbing on the spoiler was somehow mimicked by the hand over his valve covering. Hot Rod grimaced as he felt his own body betraying him. He felt the need to release his spike, he felt the increased lubrication in his valve. He hated all of those feelings. He just wanted to be relieved of those feelings. He wanted to be out of the room, out of there, back with the Autobots. He wanted to be anywhere but here, chained down to the floor with Deadlock over him with his stupid plain spike erect and ready to rape him.

“Open up.” Deadlock said.

“Go to the pit.” Hot Rod said.

“I can feel how hot you’re getting.” Deadlock ignored Hot Rod’s insult. “I can help you with that. Just open up.” Deadlock still kept rubbing at Hot Rod’s inner thighs but he squeezed the spoiler, painfully. “Or would you rather be in pieces? First the spoiler, then the array covers. Do you want your Autobot friends to see you with your spike and valve bare? If anything, they’ll take it as an invitation.”

“They wouldn’t.” Hot Rod growled. “The Autobots are no rapists, that’s all you.”

“You still got a choice Hot Rod.” Deadlock said. “Do you want to show them just how badly the big bad Decepticons got you?”

He didn’t. Hot Rod didn’t want to crawl back to the Autobots with wrecked spoiler and everything on display. He wanted to be free, to be rescued. For Springer and the rest of the Wreckers to yank Deadlock off him and beat him to death for touching him.

Hot Rod let few seconds pass in silence, the only thing distracting him was Deadlock’s fingers stroking the seams of his valve cover. There was no rescue coming. And it looked like it was going to happen, no matter how much Hot Rod wished it not to.

Hot Rod spiraled his spike cover open.

“You didn’t say which one.” Hot Rod grinned. He felt giddy for defying the Decepticon. He hoped to annoy him, to make him angry. He didn’t want Deadlock to have just pure pleasure out of this.

But Deadlock just smirked in return. He resumed teasing the spoiler while his other hand went off the valve cover and circled the spike cover with his finger. The touch was even more maddening than on the valve cover. Hot Rod involuntarily shivered at the erotic touch, then whimpered as he felt his spike pressurizing against his wishes. Hot Rod ventilated rapidly in fear. Deadlock had him.

“So pretty.” Deadlock’s fingers lightly touched on the spike. Hot Rod didn’t really think of his spike as pretty. It was just plain looking, just like Deadlock’s. It wasn’t as enticing as Blurr’s spike, it wasn’t as flashy, handsome or interesting looking as the other spikes Hot Rod had seen in his favorite porn videos. He hated Deadlock for saying that it was pretty. He didn’t know why he hated it, but he chalked it up to the fact that Deadlock was raping him.

Though when Deadlock gripped the now pressurized spike and stroked it, it felt erotic. It felt sensual. Hot Rod huffed as he aborted a moan of pleasure. He put his teeth together and focused on breathing, trying to focus on anything other than the hand on his spike.

Then the spoiler was squeezed again, now in an iron grip and threatening to bend. Hot Rod cried out in pain, involuntarily bucking into the handjob, the mixed signals of pain and pleasure confusing him.

“The valve cover now.” Deadlock said low. Hot Rod whimpered, then yelled as Deadlock actually bent the spoiler. Just slightly, but it hurt so much. Hot Rod didn’t even think as he did the only thing that would stop the pain.

“That was easy, wasn’t it?” Deadlock said, releasing the spoiler. Hot Rod let go of the tension of pain that he hadn’t known he was holding. He just whimpered as the pain in his spoiler faded away. He wanted Deadlock off him. He wanted to be back at the base.

The moment he fled from those thoughts he felt the hand stroking his spike, and fingers in his valve. Hot Rod looked away, not wanting to see what was going on as he felt it. He couldn’t ignore it. If he tried he would just think about things that were impossible at the moment, or think about Blurr and Blurr did not deserve to be associated with rape, even though it was only in Hot Rod’s mind. Hot Rod couldn’t escape, not from the restraints, not from his own body.

“You’re so pretty.” Deadlock said smiling, in a tone that was almost genuine. Maybe it was, maybe somewhere in his sick mind he thought he was actually paying Hot Rod a compliment, not treating him like some sort of interface toy.

Hot Rod was too tired to answer with some snappy comment back. He was too tired to speak at all. He was both all worked up from the handjob and the fingers in his valve and too tired to deal with the reality of the situation. It was as if his body was conflicted about what was happening, like he was having a great frag but was also fighting for his life with all the stress that came with that.

Deadlock’s fingers dug even further in, as far as they could go, spreading and then curling, as if Deadlock was trying to stroke all the nodes inside of the valve. Hot Rod buckled again as a particularly sensitive spot was stimulated, and Deadlock just chuckled in return. Then the fingers left the valve.

Hot Rod snapped to attention. He quickly turned his head to watch what was going to happen. He knew what Deadlock was going to do, he knew that he wouldn’t be happy with just playing with his valve and giving him a handjob. And Hot Rod saw his fear come true. Deadlock, unintentionally gripping Hot Rod’s spike tighter, was guiding his spike to Hot Rod’s valve.

“Please don’t do this, please stop.” Hot Rod pleaded, which turned into whimpers as Deadlock didn’t stop, as Hot Rod felt the spike touch his valve folds, as he felt the spike’s head slip inside, as he felt Deadlock inching deeper inside, withdrawing couple of times but always going deeper until they were flush at the hips, Deadlock’s spike hilted into Hot Rod’s valve.

“Primus you feel so good Hot Rod.” Deadlock smiled as he arched his back, looking up at the ceiling, clearly in pleasure as he relished in the feeling for a moment before looking down at Hot Rod again. “Your valve feels so good around my spike.” Deadlock said, lazily rolling his hips and thrusting slow.

Hot Rod didn’t answer, he just looked away. He didn’t want to see Deadlock fragging him. He didn’t want it to be happening but he couldn’t isolate himself from feeling that spike inside of him, having no problem going in and out of his well lubricated valve. Hot Rod felt sick. He felt ashamed of himself. The Decepticon had gotten him worked up so well.

His attention snapped back to reality as he felt Deadlock squeezing his spike, continuing the stroking of the spike. Hot Rod bucked again, trying to get Deadlock to let his spike go, but there wasn’t anything he could do in his situation but to take it. He wanted to yell at Deadlock, he wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, but it felt like it would take too much effort. Hot Rod was tense and hot. He hadn’t had a frag like this before. No, correction, he hadn’t been raped before.

But the only pain he felt was the lingering aftereffects of Deadlock bending his spoiler. And as if Deadlock had read his mind, his free hand went back to the spoiler. It avoided touching the damaged area, but the faint touches of his fingers ghosted along the edges. It felt good, Hot Rod felt as if his spoiler was warming up, the pain on it fading. 

The release of the last pain in his body made him moan.

“Such a wanton slut.” Deadlock laughed.

“You sick Decepticon sadist!” Hot Rod yelled and struggled anew. He knew it was useless, he knew he couldn’t escape. But he had to try, he had to prove to himself that he wanted out. The spike in his valve felt like a sickening intrusion but at the same time it felt good.

“Looks like there is still some fire left in you.” Deadlock chuckled. “It’s amazing to watch you fight me, or at least try to. Did you know you’re squeezing your valve at the same time? It’s a feeling I can’t even describe.” Deadlock smiled in pleasure as he arched his back, relishing in some feeling that it made Hot Rod sick to know that he was giving it to Deadlock.

The thought to beg Deadlock to stop came to Hot Rod’s mind. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t give up. He couldn’t give that victory to Deadlock. He just glared at Deadlock, hoping that the fire still left in him was still powerful enough to convey to his attacker that he hated him.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry.” Deadlock laughed. Before Hot Rod could retort in any way, Deadlock ran his thumb over the head of Hot Rod’s spike. The touch felt electrifying, making Hot Rod buck up into the touch without even intending to.

Hot Rod realized that Deadlock had never thrust in earnest. He was just doing those slow lazy rolls while he was putting all his effort into Hot Rod’s spike.

Another touch on the head, and Hot Rod vented raggedly. He felt a different kind of warmth in him, a knot of slight discomfort.

Hot Rod knew instantly what it was. He was close to an overload.

“Stop!” Hot Rod yelled as he squirmed beneath Deadlock. He couldn’t get the spike out of his valve, he couldn’t get Deadlock’s hand off his spike. But he tried. “You fragger! Stop!” He tensed up, trying to kill that feeling, trying to stop it. He couldn’t overload, he didn’t want to. He was being raped and no one was meant to overload during that. 

“What’s the matter Hot Rod?” Deadlock smirked and leaned down to Hot Rod. The feeling of touch and pressure on Hot Rod’s abdomen and chest intensified the feeling. Hot Rod just froze, keeping the tension in his body in a desperate attempt to make it stop. He felt the hot venting from Deadlock washing over him, the erotic feel of it stirring up sensors that were intensifying the feeling of the oncoming overload.

“Please don’t do this to me.” Hot Rod whimpered, his will broken as he felt himself close, oh so close to an overload he was fighting against.

“Why should I stop?” Deadlock asked. “It’s going to feel so good. You know that.” Deadlock rose up, but the hand that was not stroking Hot Rod’s spike went back to the spoiler, massaging it lightly.

That broke Hot Rod’s concentration. The dam burst. The knot inside of him untangled and broke apart. Hot Rod cried out defeated, but with each spurt of transfluid from his spike his cries turned into moans. Deadlock was right, it felt good. It felt amazing. It was one of the stronger overloads Hot Rod had ever had. And he hated himself for feeling that way.

Hot Rod was shaking as the overload finally left him. If Deadlock had said anything during it, he hadn’t heard. He just looked up to see Deadlock smirking, no, smiling at him, leaning over as if he were about to kiss Hot Rod. But the kiss never came. He just leaned back up again and began to thrust.

Deadlock’s spike felt more like an unwanted intrusion than before. But Hot Rod didn’t fight back, he didn’t struggle. What was the point, he was already defeated. He looked at his body, looked at Deadlock thrusting into him like he was chasing his own overload.

But that wasn’t what caught Hot Rod’s attention. He saw several streaks of transfluid on his body. His transfluid. His spike was barely stained as it laid there flaccid. Primus, why had he come so much? It felt disgusting, even though a couple of months ago he had just laughed about it while Blurr was cleaning him.

He felt Deadlock move differently and then turned his attention to his rapist. There he was, smile on his face, optics offline as he was thrusting with need for an overload. Gone was the banter and any minute shred of regards for Hot Rod. Deadlock was now doing it just for himself, for his pleasure. 

Then there was another shift in Deadlock’s body, ragged venting as he was getting close. Deadlock scootched a bit back as he stiffened. Hot Rod couldn’t see what was going on, but he could feel it. The spike had almost withdrawn from his valve but the head remained. Heavy, even, and regular venting indicated that Deadlock was overloading. Right into Hot Rod’s valve.

Hot Rod wanted to hurl insults at the Decepticon, he wanted to spit, he wanted to fight. But he was exhausted and he hated himself for it. He had already overloaded and now Deadlock was filling him up with his own transfluid.

Then Deadlock withdrew, but not before squeezing Hot Rod’s spike again. It did not arouse Hot Rod, nor did it stimulate the spike into pressurizing again. Hot Rod was too tired, and it looked like his own body got the message as well.

“Primus you look magnificent.” Deadlock said, the awe clear in his voice. He leaned down and squeezed at the valve lips, and Hot Rod felt fluid drip down to beneath the valve. Deadlock’s transfluid. Hot Rod shivered. He knew this, he knew what was happening. He was seeing the bigger picture. The stains on his abdomen and chest, the flaccid spike resting to the side, the transfluid leaking from his valve. Primus, this was his favorite part in the pornography clips that he watched. The aftermath of a good fragging, the pan of the camera zooming in on the leaking valve and the glistening streaks of transfluid on the chest.

Hot Rod felt sick.

“One for you.” Deadlock said and threw something small next to Hot Rod. He didn’t catch what it was so he looked up at Deadlock.

He had a camera.

There was no click as Deadlock pressed the button. Several times. He wasn’t moving around, but Hot Rod could see that from his angle he was taking a sweeping picture of Hot Rod, catching all the details.

“And one for me.” Deadlock said. Hot Rod watched as he walked to a corner of the room and picked up something. When he turned around and came back to Hot Rod he saw what it was. An inhibitor claw. Hot Rod struggled in his chains but he couldn’t stop him as the claw snapped onto Hot Rod’s chest and made him freeze.

“It’s on timed release.” Deadlock said as he leaned over Hot Rod, looking at his face for a moment before he unshackled Hot Rod. “I will be far away when it lets you go.”

Hot Rod couldn’t retort. He couldn’t move. The inhibitor claw made sure of that. When his legs were freed from the chains Deadlock picked up the object he had dropped before and put it on top of the inhibitor claw. “Remember your souvenir.” He said. And then he left.

The wait felt like hours. For a while, Hot Rod thought that there was no timed release, that Deadlock was just keeping him imprisoned for the next time he wanted to frag a pretty Autobot. Or that he called in a tip for the Autobots to come find Hot Rod, making one last humiliation to have Springer and everyone else see his sorry state of post-interfacing. 

But it probably wasn’t hours, more like minutes. The claw suddenly released Hot Rod with a short note of completion. Hot Rod felt his body finally relax. He laid there for a few moments before trying to move his hands and legs. He could. The first thing that he did was to take the claw off him. The item, the “souvenir”, fell off. But Hot Rod just laid there for a few moments more, the realization that he was free slowly coming to him. He stood up, aching body and limbs protesting the movement, but he had been in worse pain.

Except for the pain in his spark. He heard some noise from far away and jumped in alarm before his mind recognized the noise as settling metal structure. He noticed he was in the ruins of abandoned urban battlefield, an old home long since abandoned as the war came to this place. The ones that had owned this place would probably not be happy to learn what Deadlock had done in there. The chains were still there, abandoned and discarded, and laying down in a pattern that clearly showed that they had been used to tie someone down to torture them.

Hot Rod would have preferred a torture.

He noticed the small object again, and he picked it up. A memory chip. It had been from the camera Deadlock had used to take pictures of him. Hot Rod shuddered. Deadlock had taken pictures of him, this was just a copy of them. He had more of them. That bastard Decepticon could at any time just look at those pictures and self-service to them, to the memory of what he had done to Hot Rod.

Hot Rod felt morbid curiosity to take a look for himself. To put in the memory chip and see what was on it. But as he stepped out of the room, nearly inserting the chip into his slot on the way, he noticed a movement. He looked up and froze.

He was staring at himself. It was a mirror. It was dirty and cracked, but Hot Rod could clearly see himself.

The purple outline of a Decepticon insignia was on his chest, smudged but still recognizable. He saw how a part of his spoiler was also purple, the wet paint having been on Deadlock’s hand and transferring over to where he had touched him. Hot Rod backed up slightly to see his whole body in the mirror.

More purple paint. Near his spike, on his thighs, at his valve cover. And the transfluid that was on him, there was just so much. Before, he would look at those streaks of transfluid with pride, evidence of good enjoyable fragging. But now, it was the mark of shame. Deadlock had made him overload, despite Hot Rod not wanting to.

What could Hot Rod even say? Could he even report what had happened? The only pain he had felt was when Deadlock squeezed his spoiler, and when Hot Rod had been trying to resist the overload. He had been so lubricated that the penetration hadn’t even hurt. What did it say about him? What would others say about him if they found out?

_Such a wanton slut._ Deadlock’s laughter echoed in Hot Rod’s mind. He looked at the memory chip, then put it inside of his storage. He didn’t want to throw it away, for someone else to find it and check out what was in it. The next thing Hot Rod would do would be to find some solvent. Get rid of the evidence.


End file.
